Hermione threw her clothes onto the dresser and angrily tugged at her elastic. She didn't know why she was so bothered by his comment, but here she was, jerking with too much force and having a couple of hairs pulled out as her bushy mane fell apart around her.
Her eye caught the movement as it reflected back at her from the mirror. She took a couple of steps forward until her palms rested on the edge of the wood of the dresser, analyzing the absurd angles at which some of her hair extended.
Her irises moved lower to the swell of her breasts; comfortably tucked into her towel. She'd never really given much thought to her breast size over the years. Ron had never complained. Harry never brought it up (at least not in front of her), and they really never had "boy talk" around her, so it didn't often cross her mind.
But there was the occasional moment, usually in the Gryffindor common room, when surrounding classmates thought they were having a private conversation as she read a book near the fireplace.
Women would talk about their sex adventures, giddily whispering to each other about the naughty 'activities' men had done with them. Males were less private about such matters, often laughing out loud and making obscene gestures, occasionally demonstrating a woman's assets with their hands to one another.
Hermione had always assumed they over-exaggerated their vulgar depictions. Most women she knew didn't have busts the size of watermelons.
Her eyes snapped back to her face. Malfoy was just being a prick. Victor Krum, an international celebrity, was able to notice her among the swarm of Beauxbaton beauties during the Triwizard Cup. Surely, her femininity wasn't as invisible as he made it out to be.
She grabbed her wand and quickly made a gesture with it, closing the room's door with a rather aggressive thud and locking it. "Lumos," she whispered, turning back to the mirror and setting down her wand, making sure the light didn't blind her reflection.
She ran her fingers over the towel's trim, feeling hesitant. With a decided nod, she took a breath and unlatched the towel, grabbing an end in each hand and letting it fall around her waist, giving herself a real good look. She hadn't changed very much.
A little older, a little more mature, a couple of scrapes here and there. Her ear would forever be deformed but there was nothing she could do about that. Overall she looked fine. She rolled her eyes, annoyed with herself. This was absurd. Of course she was pretty. She didn't need someone else's reassurance.
Drying off, she put her old clothes back on and unlocked the door, stepping out to find their hosts.
Her breasts were perfect just the way they were. Malfoy could go fuck himself.
When he was sure he'd taken off the top grimy layer of his skin, Draco walked back to the bedroom, just as Hermione finished putting a book away into her small beaded bag. She'd changed into someone's overly large pajamas that hung loosely around her in a rather unflattering way, her hair bouncing as she moved about.
Their eyes met a moment, as he stepped into the room, but she didn't say anything, putting the pouch into the dresser and closing the drawer with a little too much vigor to go unnoticed. Draco leisurely propped himself against the door, leaning on his hands and pushing it closed in the process, the tip of her wand lighting the room from its spot on the bed.
He'd already redressed and left the towel hanging on the shower curtain to dry. Hermione flatly ignored him, pulling out an elastic and throwing her head forward, gathering her hair and struggling to put it back up into a messy bun, attempting to look preoccupied.
"Now what?" He asked, with the slightest edge in his tone. He noted the cold shoulder and her silence irritated him.
"Now," she hummed. "We sleep."
"I meant where do we go from here?"
Walking over to the bed, she pulled back the covers.
"You get the floor," she replied smoothly, before nodding to the bedpost. "Ab lent you his nightwear if you want it."
"Granger," he persisted as she bent forward to grab a pillow, his eyes half glued on the overly large garment.
"Tomorrow we leave to gather supplies."
"What then?"
She paused a moment, her hands gently fluffing the cotton, her gaze finally making its way up to his, "I'll let you know".
His damp hair had been pushed back, and like hers, didn't quite sit well without products or spellwork. She made a mental note of it in case he ever decided to get snarky about hers.
His eyes left hers and looked to the floor somewhere ahead of him, grudgingly accepting her answer and mulling it over.
She picked her wand up from the bed and cast a complicated locking spell on the cabinet containing her bag.
"Don't bother," she said, her chin giving a jab in its direction.
His eyebrow gave an irked twitch, "right," he responded, loudly exhaling from his nostrils as he watched her get under the covers from his place at the door.
"Is this the part where you practice your bondage skills on me?"
"No actually, it isn't," she said, raising her wand to him. He pushed off the door, slightly panicked and angry she was once again going to subject him physical confinement.
The door clicked behind him.
His head whipped around to look at the knob, his eyes flashing to hers before looking back at it a second time. He brought his hand up and tested the handle. She'd locked it.
"Goodnight Malfoy," she said, turning around and attenuating the tip of her wand, plunging them into complete darkness.
He blindly stared at nothing for a moment, listening to her stir on the bed. Deciding to ignore her, he focused on his breathing. She didn't restrain him. God, that was a relief. He was totally fed up with it. A sense of calm washed over him as he relaxed, easing his shoulders back into the door, letting it take most of his weight. He realized for once he wasn't hungry or cold or sore. In this moment, he felt...almost at peace and strangely detached.
Hermione stopped moving and the room became completely quiet. There were no crickets singing and no wind bustling, no leaves blowing and no birds chirping. No war, no danger, no exhaustion. Just silence throughout the house. Absolute bliss.
Fatigue crept into the fog of his mind, but he kept it at bay. He wanted to cherish this blessed moment forever.
"Urgh!" He heard from across the room, followed by a second of rustling. He jumped in surprise as his leg was hit with a cushion.
"Conscience get the best of you?" he teased, bending down and picking it up, a true smile forming on his lips. She was so predictable.
"Shut up, Malfoy," she grumbled from her spot.
He turned the pillow over in his hands, squeezing it a couple of times. It was warm and smelt of her, with a mixed tinge of peach. Suddenly, the bed was very inviting.
Determined, he walked over, his eyes now adjusted to the dim glow peeping from the cracks of the door.
"Move over."
"Malfoy what are you doing? I said you get the floor!"
He pressed his hands down on the bed, not quite leaning over her, "Are you seriously going to make me sleep on the floor with nothing but a bloody pillow? Where did you sleep last night? Because I distinctly remember waking up on the bed."
"You were knocked out."
"You slept with me didn't you."
"I'd never sleep with you."
He grinned and made a couple of disapproving clicks with his tongue, "don't avoid the subject."
She didn't stop eyes from rolling, "you were on top of the blankets."
"And I'll stay on top of the blankets," he quickly responded, getting eager for her to agree. The cushioned mattress under his fingers was too welcoming to pass up.
She was silent a moment.
"Promise," he pressed.
She gave another loud sigh, but she shuffled over, pushing her pillow with her. "I swear Malfoy, you try anything, and I'll turn you back into a ferret and lock you in a cage."
She couldn't see his smug smirk as he triumphantly slapped his pillow onto the head of the bed, comfortably slipping on beside her, hands intertwining behind his head.
"You know, I think you may be getting too accustomed to treating me like an animal," he said, giving a lazy smirk. "What with the leashes and threats, ropes, and bindings. Commands…"
"Well that wouldn't be right would it?" His smile dropped at her change in demeanor and sudden somber tone, "treating another human like Every. Other. Animal?" she added darkly, echoing the words he'd spat at her from their discussion in the cave.
As she said it, Hermione realized why he hadn't seen her as a woman until then. Why he hadn't seen her as a sexual being with sexual bits that could do sexual things. Essentially; despite some of his previous lewd comments – she was still, after all they've been through, less than a sexual being to him. A mudblood. An animal.
He clipped his jaw shut. They were heading into dangerous territory. The reoccurring topic that sparked her fire and was sure to get him kicked out of bed. Fatigue was finally clawing past the barriers he'd put up and frankly, he didn't have the energy to defend his position tonight.
"I wasn't going to kill you...in the field," he said evenly, factually and without emotion, intent on distracting her thought process. He felt her head turn in his direction. "I just needed to wipe your memory. Then I could return home safely, without the constant terror of wondering if a follower had learned that I wanted out. Or worse, my father. But then you shot me that hex…and things got out of hand."
"You're more afraid of your father than the Dark Lord?" she asked, turning to face him completely and tucking an elbow under her head. She couldn't see him but the heat radiating off of him gave her a good idea of how close he was.
His frown deepened, "that's not what I said."
"It was implied-"
"I could probably bribe most of the men into silence for a short while if they found out; the lot of them are pretty poor. Then they'd report me once a hefty bounty was to be made for my whereabouts and the hounds would be released in my pursuit."
She considered his words seriously. "But from what I understand, death eaters are mostly from elite wizarding society, bribing them with money-"
"Deatheaters are not the same as regular followers. They're usually common folk who've felt wronged in one way or another by the government or a governing body, and they join purely out of spite, and in hopes of climbing the ranks for better social status," he paused, considering what he was telling her. "Other times its just people looking to make a quick sum. They usually become snatchers."
"I was right…" Whispered Hermione, thoughts running back to the maskless brown pants man she'd fought on the cliff.
"Figured it out ahead of time did you?"
"It wasn't exactly difficult to piece together," she said, eyebrow raised in amusement.
"Fair enough," he answered, shrugging his shoulders as he did, the corner of his mouth upturned in a ghost of a grin.
"And what if your father found out?" she said, eyes finally adjusting as the light through the door cracks shone dimly, and she could now make out the outline of his silhouette.
"I'm sure you can figure that out too."
"But surely your father wouldn't-"
"I'm not exactly sure what he'd do. He's desperate and afraid and he's beside himself trying to return to the Dark lord's good graces-"
"The Dark Lord doesn't have good graces-" she abruptly interrupted, jutting her head closer to his, trying to make her point.
"Nevertheless, father wants back in," he said, sounding distant, ignoring the breath he felt butterfly across his face. "Nothing shows loyalty like turning in your only son."
She debated staying quiet, leaving it where it ought to be left. They were doing so well.
"I'm sure he wouldn't-"
"You don't know shit, Granger," he snapped, turning on his side to mirror her position, aggressively leaning in closer to her. "Don't make assumptions on things you don't understand. It's not Hogwarts anymore where you break the rules, you get detention and you redeem yourself by winning house points."
They were nose to nose now.
"How many house points does daddy get for turning you in?"
He fell silent, feeling both outraged and humiliated by her jab.
"Sorry," she said, trying to calm herself, "that was too far."
"Just shut up," he hissed.
"But… he's your father," she pressed. Might as well push. They'd made it this far.
He was soundless a moment. He might've even stopped breathing. But then he spoke, quietly, seethingly, and almost rehearsed, "my father is, first and foremost, a servant of the Dark Lord."
She waited for him to continue, not trusting herself to speak. But when he didn't, they fell into an uncomfortable silence.
It was hard to imagine living a life where you didn't know if your parents loved you enough to protect you. Hermione was beginning to understand Draco's actions and personality more than she cared to admit.
"You're not going to bother even trying to escape, are you," she concluded.
"No…I'm not," he said, eyebrows knitting together, "so long as you're capable of opening that big mouth of yours, it's in my best interest to stick around and keep you from doing so."
She believed him, and found a sense of comfort in that.
"Well, now I know your plan," she said almost teasingly, hand reaching out and giving his forearm a nudge.
"Well you don't have one, so I guess we're on even playing fields," he said, no hint of amusement in his voice.
" I guess we'll have to figure it out together," she murmured, feeling his breath fan across her cheeks.
"So it would seem," he hummed.
They fell silent again, their fatigue ripping away at the growing tension between them.
"Goodnight, Malfoy," she finally breathed. Tomorrow would be a new day.
"Goodnight, Granger," he muttered in return.
She turned away from him, getting comfy on her side and bringing her knees up in a semi-fetal position, not bothering to double-check the wand she'd tucked under her pillowcase. Draco didn't move, falling asleep where he lay.
They both slept peacefully that night.